


Social Affairs

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [20]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Master/Slave, Non-Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 23:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: Ven isn't exactly fond of social evenings recently, but they're not always bad





	Social Affairs

Ven turned, admiring himself in the mirror as his master watched indulgently. The tunic was new, in Master's new household livery; a deep wine colour (very definitely not purple!), selected especially to show Ven off to the best advantage. It was, in fact, more or less exactly the colour of the eyeshadow he'd tried that day, and it made the green of his eyes look greener in almost the same way that eyeshadow had.

He thought the colour would suit most of the other slaves in the household, too, but knew that wasn't why Master had chosen it.

“From the way you are preening in that mirror, I take it that you approve,” Master said eventually, causing Ven to turn to face him, lowering his eyes.

“I like it, Master,” Ven said carefully, keeping his eyes down. “But surely a slave may neither approve nor disapprove of anything his master may choose to do?”

“Clever boy,” his master told him. “Turn around, let me look at you.”

Ven swallowed and obeyed. The new tunic was just as short as his old ones had been, leaving his legs bare, which was only right considering Ven was a slave. And naturally he still was not allowed underwear.

“Shame we don't have time for anything,” his master said as Ven completed his slow turn, coming back around to face his master again. 

Ven didn't know whether to be thankful that they didn't have time for anything, or regretful that the reason they didn't have time was because Master was going to a party, and taking Ven with him – one of those deadly dull cocktail affairs, which meant that Ven would end up dancing attendance on him all evening rather than being able to spend the evening relaxing over a game of dice with some of the other guests' slaves in the slaves' waiting room. 

* * *

It was just as bad as Ven had feared. Small talk, wine, a buffet table set out at one side of the atrium, with slaves standing nearby ready to serve up anything a citizen wanted and remove any dishes the second they were empty. Anyone who was anyone had a slave with them; Ven knew some of the other slaves from similar parties (and from those dinner parties where they were dismissed until the end of the evening, when they could actually have a proper conversation, unlike now).

He smiled at his fellow-slaves, when he wouldn't be thought impudent for raising his eyes in the presence of a citizen, and managed to exchange quick covert signs with one or two of them. Although the slaves' sign language was not designed for holding a full conversation, it was perfectly adequate to signal 'Are you all right?' which was the equivalent, in this situation, of the free people's 'Good evening, how are you?'

Master only came to these things to network, of course; there were all sorts of people present who might be of help to him (not to mention all those he might be able to help, himself). And among all those were the ones who came over just to talk about those gods-damned videos....

“ _So_ instructive,” gushed one young woman who was wearing the stola of a matron but was matronly in no other respect whatsoever. “I found the one about the rope bondage and suspension most informative – and signed up to one of the courses, too. So _helpful_. Is this the slave you use?”

“Yes. Say good evening to the lady, Ven.”

“Good evening, Lady,” Ven said obediently, keeping his eyes down, certain that his face was scarlet.

“Oh, he's so pretty! Does he _really_ have green eyes, or is that just the light when you film?”

“You may look up at the lady, Ven.”

Ven raised his eyes. She was young, a pretty thing of perhaps twenty, with brown hair and brown eyes, whose stola was made from something floaty in yellow that reminded Ven strongly of a canary and wearing an amount of jewellery that could not be called tasteless in this society (but certainly would be tasteless anywhere else other than, possibly, certain neighbourhoods of the Aventine).

“Oh, how unusual! So very pretty – where did you find him?”

Ven could not swear to it, from his position behind his master's shoulder, but was almost certain that the tone of his master's voice signalled the fact he would dearly like to roll his eyes. “I bought him in a private sale a year ago.”

“You're so lucky! I can't wait to see what you do with him next – your videos are always so _interesting_! Oh – is that Helena Roscia? I really _must_ go and say hello – we haven't seen each other in an age...” She fluttered off, bangles jangling, and Ven let out a silent sigh of relief at the same moment his master gave an audible one.

That wasn't the last he heard of those videos this evening, either. 

“Good evening, citizen. I must say it is a nice surprise to see you here! And your boy as well. I have enjoyed your livestreams. Have you considered possibly doing something to show the different types of toys you sell at Phallusy? I know I would appreciate an expert's explanation of all the different things – the options are so vast I hardly know where to begin!”

“Take a note of that, Ven,” Master said.

Ven pulled his tablet from the bag over his shoulder, making a quick note, perfectly aware that whatever his master decided to do, he himself probably wouldn't enjoy it as much as his master, and the audience.

“Very pretty boy, he is, too. Is that a new livery? It does suit him – although I daresay that's why you chose it.”

“Indeed. It is good to see you – I must congratulate you on your election to quaestor.” 

Ven tuned the conversation out, although not enough that he would be unable to respond to a direct address by his master.

By the time they had circulated around the room enough that it would not be rude to stop for food, Ven had had several comments on how pretty he was, how unusual his eyes were, how instructive the videos were, how well he looked in whatever situation his master decided to put him, how interesting it was to see the piercings he had (could master give a close-up of them at some point?), and had taken down several more suggestions for things people would like to see in the future. And had been made to thank every one of the commenters.

He was surprised to note, as they passed one of the large mirrors decorating the walls, that he was not the same colour as his tunic, that he was not, in fact, any shade of red at all that could not be explained by the warmth of the evening and the crush in the room.

He put the tablet away as they approached the buffet table again, taking a plate and ready to serve his master whatever he wished.

“Yes, one of the dormice. No, the salmon vol-au-vents, there. Some of those oysters. Some of that duck – yes, with garum. The mushrooms...”

“Ah – I thought it was you!”

The voice made them both turn. When they saw the speaker, they both glanced at each other and groaned. Master took the plate from Ven's hands, indicating he should resume his place, and stepped away from the table as Potitus Domitius Catilina descended.

Ven was amused to note that he was wearing a toga – practically the only person present who was; every other male citizen was in a _pallium_ , a lighter, far less cumbersome article of clothing usually in some bright colour other than white. The toga had been discarded many centuries before as impractical, being replaced by the _pallium_ for all formal occasions, but had been reintroduced by the emperors of the Vitan dynasty four centuries before. The _pallium_ was still the preferred option for an event such as this evening.

The man was a boor, and a bore. He gave Ven a lascivious look of the sort he had rarely (if ever) been on the receiving end of, that made him wince a little and shift fractionally closer to his master. 

And this was one conversation that made no mention at all of Phallusy, or master's videos, or anything of any interest to anyone other than Domitius Catilina (who was, so far as Ven could make out, absolutely nothing to do with the famous Catiline of the late Republic but was descended either from a freedman of that family or from a very minor branch of it... but loved to harp on about his supposed famous ancestor regardless.)

Ven glanced surreptitiously around the room. The host, one Quintus Sestius Philippus, was in conversation with someone else, but his attending slave met Ven's eyes. Ven raised two fingers to rub his eye – _Please help if you can!_ – and saw the other give a small nod, the motion so subtle it would not be noted unless looked for.

Ven turned his attention back to his master and Domitius Catilina, although keeping watch on their host from the corner of his eye. He saw the other man nod and turn away to speak to someone else, Sestius' slave taking the opportunity to lean forward and say something, indicating Ven's master and the pompous overbearing Domitius Catilina, who was now going on about fish, the price of... something, and the inferior quality of the garum from... somewhere, that was coming to Rome in quantities that Domitius Catilina's company could not compete with.

There were only so many sympathetic noises a man could make, and Ven reckoned his master had made about half of those in his repertoire, had repeated some of _them_ and would be in danger of assuming the glazed look of the seriously talked-at if this went on for much longer. Although he did not think that Domitius would even notice; the man was in love with the sound of his own voice and had barely left space for any of those sympathetic noises to be inserted.

And yes. Sestius had waved his slave back irritably, but had started moving in this direction. Ven was already wearing the blank face of a slave waiting for his master's command, and turned his eyes down toward the floor again. It would not do for his master's host to realise that he was being watched (however covertly) by one of his guests' slaves.

“Ah, Domitius – I hope you won't mind if I steal your companion away for a moment? I wanted to ask him about something he said in his latest video...” He glanced to his own slave. “Violus, wine for my guest and I while we talk.”

“Yes, Master.” 

Domitius was left stammering, looking (in Ven's opinion) like a stranded goldfish as Sestius guided Ven's master away from him. Ven couldn't feel too guilty about it, though, the man would soon find another victim to be told all about the woes of a fish-sauce manufacturer.

“Did you...?” Master said, once he and Ven were alone again (for a given value of 'alone', it was a well-attended occasion!).

“Master?”

“Don't play coy with me. Did you do something to get Sestius Philippus' attention earlier?”

“No, Master.”

“Hmm.” He didn't look convinced, but Ven lifted his eyes and gave him a guileless expression; he hadn't directly done anything to get Sestius Philippus' attention, and was not about to admit to anything he didn't need to.

His master sighed. “Well. You may as well finish this duck, anyway.”

Ven accepted the plate that was held out. “Thank you, Master.”

The duck, it turned out, was very tasty indeed – and the garum wasn't too bad, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: _quaestor:_ a public official, the first rung on the _cursus honorum_ (See [wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quaestor)  
>  _garum:_ fish sauce... pretty much the ancestor of the modern Worcester sauce. Used as a sauce or a condiment.
> 
> [Catiline](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catiline) on Wikipedia


End file.
